


A Helping Hand

by colonel_bastard



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Desperation, Intimate Assistance, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk has trouble providing a urine sample.  McCoy lends a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raja815](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raja815/gifts).



> Set in my headcanon where Kirk and McCoy are fuck buddies who both want to fuck Spock— Kirk in a space-husbands-true-love kinda way, McCoy in a damn-that-frustrating-son-of-a-bitch-makes-me-horny kinda way. Because let's face it, _everyone_ wants to fuck Spock. That's just a _fact_.

Kirk closes his eyes and forces himself to take big, deep breaths. _Relax. Relax. Relax._ But the harder he tries to calm down, the less it works. In fact it’s getting worse with every passing second, as he pictures McCoy waiting just outside the door, tapping his chronometer restlessly, wondering what the hell is taking him so long. After all, it’s a pretty simple thing to piss into a cup. It shouldn’t have taken him more than a minute and yet he’s been in here for five already, easily, five solid minutes of sighing and straining and running the sink to no avail. He can’t squeeze out a drop. 

He jumps at the sudden knock on the door. 

“Come on, Jim,” Bones calls crankily. “I’m not getting any younger out here.” 

“Give me a minute,” Kirk calls back, helpless. 

“Don’t tell me you weren’t ready for this. I _told_ you I was gonna need a sample, gave you a medical order to consume plenty of water this morning—” 

“I did!” Jim pants, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Trust me, that’s— that’s not the problem.” 

He jumps again when the bathroom door slides open behind him. He whirls around and has never felt more foolish in his life, standing there with an empty cup in one hand and his limp dick in the other, his face flushed red with embarrassment. Bones appears unfazed. 

“Then what _is_ the problem?” he demands. 

“That door was locked,” Kirk protests. 

“Emergency medical override,” McCoy gestures impatiently. “Now what’s going on?” 

Kirk turns away, flustered. He gives his dick a meek little shake in a last-ditch attempt to relieve himself. He is unsuccessful.

“I, uh....” he squirms. “I’m having a little trouble.”

“With _what?_ ”

Kirk coughs. “Following orders.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s— difficult to explain.” 

McCoy crosses the threshold, and the door slips shut behind him as he folds his arms, assuming an irritated stance. 

“Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a mind-reader. Just tell me what the hold-up is so I can fix it.” 

“I... can’t.” 

“Oh for God’s sake.” 

“ _No,_ I mean I— _can’t._ ”

“Can’t _what,_ man? Spit it out!”

“ _Go!_ ” Kirk explodes, furious, mortified. “I can’t _go,_ doctor, _that’s_ the problem! And I have to! Badly! I’ve never had to piss so badly in my entire _life_ , and yet for some reason I can’t wring out a single blessed _drop!_ ”

He turns his back on his friend, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He wishes he could disappear. This is all his fault. If he could just— _relax_. Fidgeting, he shifts his weight again and feels the contents of his bladder suddenly lurch downwards. He anxiously leans forward over the empty sample cup, but the moment he _tries_ to piss, it’s like everything in him seizes up and locks down tight. By now it’s actually starting to _hurt._

“I _can’t,_ ” he whines pitifully. 

When McCoy speaks again, the sound is much nearer than Kirk expected, just over his shoulder. 

“Let me have a look.” 

And he steps in close behind him, reaches around and lays his hands gently on Kirk’s belly, swollen to the touch. Kirk twitches and holds his breath. 

“Damn, boy,” Bones murmurs, his voice low against Jim’s ear. “You’re about to pop. Why don’t you just let it go?” 

“I want to,” Kirk wriggles, shrinking away from the uncomfortable pressure of the doctor’s hands. “But when I— _think_ about it— I just can’t do it.” 

“Don’t tell me the great James T. Kirk can’t perform under pressure.” 

“You’re sworn to secrecy.” 

Bones presses down unexpectedly and Kirk gasps, jerks back against him. Everything in him aches with the desire for release, but it’s like there’s a fist clenched inside his dick, tamping down the hose. McCoy grunts and scoots in closer, his chest now flush against the captain’s back. His fingers continue to probe relentlessly at Kirk’s tight, painful abdomen. 

“You need to relax, Jim,” he scolds. “You’re over-thinking it. It’s just a piss, for God’s sake.”

“I’m _trying_.”

“You can’t _try_ to relax,” Bones snorts. “It doesn’t work that way.” 

“I’m... open to suggestions.” 

“Well, we just gotta get your mind off things, that’s all. And you can’t get your mind off things till you get your hands off things.” 

Kirk feels an authoritative tap on his wrist and looks down to see McCoy’s hands shooing away his own, taking the sample cup in one and, yes, Jim’s dick in the other. Baffled, Kirk nonetheless allows himself to be relieved of his burdens, sort of enjoying the way that McCoy manhandles him. Bones is the only person on this ship who ever bosses him around, and it’s one of his greatest charms. Kirk allows his arms to fall to his sides, waiting to see what the doctor does next. 

The first thing Bones does is set the sample cup down on the back of the urinal, out of his way but still within easy reach. Then, with the one hand still gingerly holding Jim’s soft cock, he slides his other up under the captain’s shirt to rest against the bare skin of his stomach. Kirk shivers. 

“Your hands are warm,” he observes. 

They are— warm and dry and soft, his touch both gentle but insistent as he sets to calmly massaging the captain’s abdomen in a series of long, generous strokes. Kirk feels so full and stretched that it’s almost painful to be touched there, and he squirms uncomfortably, his dick twinging with another useless attempt to release. Bones brings his chin down snugly on the captain’s shoulder. 

“Settle down, Jim,” he drawls. “You’re supposed to relax, remember? _Relax._ ”

Kirk chuckles. “Easier said than done, Bones.” 

“You’ve been working yourself too hard. You’re wound tighter than a goddamn spring, every muscle in your back feels like rigor’s setting in.”

Kirk rolls his broad shoulders experimentally, grinning when McCoy gives a satisfied purr as he flexes against his chest. His grin fades slightly when he notes a dull sting between his shoulder blades. 

“So I’m a little tense,” he admits. 

“Better get that Vulcan of yours to give you a good rubdown,” Bones smirks. “I’m sure he’d be all too happy to oblige.” He gives a snort of amusement, a blast of hot air against Jim’s skin. “Well, maybe not _happy_. But certainly ready, willing, and able.” 

“Why, doctor,” Kirk smiles, his eyes drifting closed as he starts to enjoy the distraction of the massage. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I seem to recall a certain Science Officer giving a certain Captain a rather cozy shoulder rub on more than one occasion.” 

“And on each occasion I was exhibiting signs of physical distress.” It’s a practiced excuse, though he delivers it in a smug tone, since they _both_ know better. “Mr. Spock was simply seeing to the well-being of his commanding officer.” 

“Oh, is that so?” McCoy nods condescendingly, his ear brushing against the captain’s, up and down. “Then it’s strictly professional. In that case you won’t mind if _I_ ask him for one.” He nudges Jim with his hips, his drawl growing thicker. “I’ll bet those strong Vulcan hands are to _die_ for.” 

Eyes still closed, Kirk surrenders to the sudden, intense mental image of McCoy arching his skinny back into Spock’s powerful touch, his blue eyes rolling and his mouth gaping wide in the shameless, undisguised pleasure of a true sensualist. Kirk is well aware of the doctor’s particular interest in his First Officer— and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. As a matter of fact, he’s lost count of the times he’s jerked off to the idea of the two of them together. 

_Spock tops. McCoy loves it. Kirk probably thinks about this a little too much._

Arousal starts creeping up through his senses, slow and warm and tantalizing. When McCoy shifts his weight unexpectedly — his body rubbing subtly against the Captain’s — it triggers an unconscious groan, a sound Kirk hasn’t even realized he’s made until Bones chuckles in response and rubs his jaw against the side of Jim’s neck, claiming him like a cat.

“You’re not the only one on this ship who could use a good rubdown,” he murmurs, that sweet Georgia accent making Jim weak at the knees. “And I think I know just the thing to cure us both. How about I come by your quarters after alpha shift? I could take care of your back.” He rocks forward again, his hipbones digging into Kirk’s ass. “And you could take care of my front.” 

Kirk leans back into him, putty in his hands. “Mmm, I like the sound of that.” 

And just when he’s least expecting it, the hand that has been stroking his belly suddenly presses down hard. 

He doesn’t even have a _chance_ to over-think it. Piss explodes out of him almost instantly, his relaxed body offering no resistance to the abrupt pressure on his overloaded bladder. He gasps, his eyes bulging open in surprise at the first tremendous spurt, then rolling back in ecstasy as he realizes what’s happening. It’s over. _He’s free._

Tension and discomfort and embarrassment come pouring out of him in a thick, hot stream. It splatters recklessly in and around the urinal as Bones reaches forward to grab his sample cup, aiming Jim’s dick into it and filling it in seconds. Kirk isn’t even close to being finished and he doesn’t even care. He spent the morning following orders and chugging water. This is his reward. 

“Unnngh,” he moans, his head lolling back against his friend’s shoulder, his body sagging against him. “Feels so _good_ , Bones.” 

“Yeah I’ll bet,” the doctor smirks, sounding quite pleased with himself. 

The cup gets set aside again so he’s free to knead lazily at Kirk’s softening abdomen, coaxing out every last drop. Jim reaches up and behind him, clasping a hand around the back of the doctor’s neck, rubbing his thumb in lazy, loving circles against his skin. There’s something unbelievably satisfying about looking down and seeing McCoy’s small, clever hand holding his dick for him while he takes the best piss of his life. He loves McCoy’s hands. He loves them even more when they’re touching him. 

“You’re a genius,” he sighs. “You knew exactly what to do.” 

“It’s like I said,” McCoy shrugs innocently. “I just had to get your mind off things.” 

“By getting it on to other things.” 

“Basic psychology.” 

The stream finally starts to peter out, thinning, weakening. The aftershocks of his previous agony have now become so intense that they’re pleasurable, and Jim gives a shameless, belly-deep groan of enjoyment, squirming contentedly in the doctor’s arms. McCoy chuckles and squeezes his belly, the same way he does when he’s scolding Kirk for his weight, only this time the gesture is delivered with unmistakable affection. He presses his mouth against the point where Jim’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“That wasn’t just for distraction, by the way,” he murmurs, nuzzling aside the collar of the Captain’s uniform to get at his skin. “I meant what I said about stopping by your quarters later.” 

“Good,” Kirk arches his shoulder into the kiss. “I’ll hold you to it.” 

And there goes the last of the piss. Jim is almost sad to see it end. When he’s finished, Bones gives his dick a careful shake, a few stray drops tumbling away as he does so. Then, to Kirk’s surprise, McCoy takes it upon himself to tuck him back into his pants and zip him up again. He gives the Captain’s ass a congratulatory slap when he’s finished. 

“There,” he says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

He’s reaching out for his sample cup when Jim catches him by the wrist. There’s an electric moment when their eyes meet. Bones manages to raise one smug eyebrow before Kirk yanks him in close enough for a proper kiss, and even then he can feel McCoy smirking against his mouth. It’s sexy as hell. 

They part. Jim thinks it’s over but then McCoy winks at him and he can’t help himself, kisses him _again_ , then hurries for the door before he can change his mind. He’s got a ship to tend to and a Vulcan on the bridge who is already going to be very curious about why the Captain’s routine physical examination took approximately seven point three minutes longer than usual. Kirk stops at the threshold just before he bolts, turns and jabs an authoritative finger at his surgeon. 

“Doctor,” he says. “You’ve earned your pay for the week.” 

Bones, collecting his hard-earned specimen, gives him a courteous nod. 

“Thank you, Captain.”

And he raises the filled sample cup aloft as a toast. 

 

 

_______end.


End file.
